That was what Gerald Price said in front of my entire executive team the morning he dropped Reed Calloway’s file on my desk like it was evidence in a murder trial.
Seventeen late arrivals.
Four months.
No written explanation.
No request for accommodation.
No apology.
I stared at the thick folder in front of me while Gerald stood across from my desk with his expensive watch, his gray suit, and that slow, satisfied smile he only wore when he was about to corner someone.
He had been my father’s COO for twelve years.
He knew every board member by first name.
He knew where every company secret was buried.
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